


Locked Out, Sunday Dinner, George's POV

by JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle



Series: Locked Out [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, brief discussion of coming out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 23:05:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17130407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle/pseuds/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle





	Locked Out, Sunday Dinner, George's POV

“And he said he’d come over and make Sunday dinner today,” Jack was saying as they finished stretching in the park.

Jack -- hockey robot Jack, who had been serious about nothing but his game for the seven years she’d known him -- Jack had spent most of their run talking about the boy he’d met. Eric Bittle, locker-in of keys and baker of pies, and apparently a faster skater than anyone on the NHL team Georgia had spent the last 10 years of her life building.

The thing was, Jack wasn’t given to hyperbole or exaggeration, especially about hockey, so the kid probably was that fast.

George knew she’d better meet him. Not that he was NHL material (well, maybe?). Just that it would be a good idea to know what lit the spark that showed in Jack’s eyes when he talked about him.

“You mind if I come up when we get to your place?” George asked, swinging herself into the driver’s seat of her BMW SUV. “I wanted to run some ideas by you.”

“Sure,” Jack said. “I think dinner’s supposed to be at 5:30, so we should have time.”

It was already past 4:30. If Bittle was cooking at Jack’s place, he’d definitely be there. But if he wasn’t expecting Jack until 5:30 … there was always the possibility they’d catch him putting take-out on platters to make it look like he cooked. Better to know if he couldn’t be trusted now.

Jack hadn’t said they were dating. Hadn’t said anything about the Bittle kid’s sexuality. If she didn’t find out more at Jack’s today, she’d look up the Samwell team tonight and see what she could learn. She didn’t need -- the team didn’t need -- a heartbroken Jack. The kid probably wasn’t leading him on, probably had no intention of taking any kind of advantage of him. 

But this wasn’t characteristic behavior for Jack, and George wanted to know more.

Part of it was to protect the team, of course. But Jack had become a friend since he signed as a shy, awkward 19-year-old. He’d grown up well, developed into a dominating player and become more self-possessed and assured, but he was still shy and awkward.

Jack was talking again.

“It didn’t look as good as his,” Jack was talking again. “But it tasted pretty good.”

“What’s that?” Georgia asked.

“The pie he helped me make,” Jack said.

“You’d better be careful,” George said. “Don’t let Nate know about that.”

“I’m being good,” Jack said. “I know how much I can have.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Georgia said, noting that he never said he didn’t eat more than he was supposed to have.

She could smell roasted chicken as she approached Jack’s door, and the sound of pop music greeted her as Jack pushed the door open and stood aside to let her in.

She walked straight through the living room toward the kitchen and was rewarded with the sight of a round behind sticking up as its owner was sliding something into the oven.

He looked over his shoulder, his eyes widened and he straightened up.

He was trim and compact, cheeks pink from the heat of the oven, eyes warm and brown. Her first impression was one of friendliness and charm.

“You didn’t say you had company already, Jack,” Georgia said, keeping an eye on Eric. “And he _can_ cook. It smells wonderful in here.”

“Hi,” Jack was talking to Eric, and smiling. “I was hoping to get back before you got here.”

“I promised you a real Sunday dinner,” Eric said. “How quick do you think that comes together? I’ve been here for a couple of hours at least.”

Eric was smiling too, and maybe looking up at Jack through his lashes? If she had to bet, George would say the attraction was mutual.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, ducking his head. “I would have come home sooner if I knew.”

“No, it’s fine,” Eric said. “It’s been a while since I got to be alone in a kitchen.”

Georgia stepped forward and extended her hand.

“Georgia Martin,” she said, “but most people call me George. I’m a friend of Jack’s.”

Eric wiped his hands on the towel he’d tucked in the waistband of his jeans and took her hand.

“Um, Eric Bittle,” he said.

“He’s the one I told you about,” Jack said.

“The one who made the pies?” Georgia said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Eric said. “Jack was kind enough to come to my rescue when I locked my friend’s keys in her car, and I wanted to make sure I thanked him properly.”

“Well, you can thank me properly anytime,” George said. “Need any favors? Have any friends who want to play on an NHL team?”

Eric looked at Jack, confused.

“Just kidding, sort of,” she said. “I work for the Falconers. I’ve known Jack since I convinced the GM to draft him, and I’ve been hoping to hit the jackpot like that again ever since.”

Eric nodded, glanced at Jack again, and looked back at Georgia. “If you’d like to stay for dinner, there’s plenty,” he said.

George nearly giggled with glee. Here was Jack’s crush (yes, she could call him that, she decided) inviting her to dinner in Jack’s home, just like he lived there. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “I didn’t mean to spring surprise guests on you, I promise. We were running and kind of lost track of time.”

Now Jack sounded like a husband who just realized that he had messed up his spouse’s plans. Jack hadn’t said, but they had to be dating. Had to be.

“My God, you two are too domestic,” George exclaimed. “Are you sure you’ve only been together a few weeks? Jack, we do need to talk before the season about how you want to handle being in a relationship. And I certainly don’t want to crash your dinner plans.”

“It’s fine,” Jack was saying, but Eric cut him off.

“Wait -- you think we’re _dating?”_ he said. “How did you get that idea? Jack, I’m so sorry. I never meant to cause problems for you, especially not with your boss. I promise, Ms. Martin, that Jack has never -- that we never -- I should go. Jack, take the rolls out of the oven when the timer goes off. And you want to wait about 10 more minutes before carving the chickens. But really, I should go, because I don’t want to make any trouble for Jack.”

He was gone, the upbeat music still playing from the speakers.

“What just happened?’ Georgia asked. “I didn’t mean to --”

“We’re not dating,” Jack said, looking at the chickens resting on the counter. “I mean, I’d love it if we were. But he’s -- he’s got so much going for him, you know? I’m a lot to take on. And he’s out, and I’m not.”

“Would you want to be?” George asked. “Wait. Don’t answer that right now. Go after him first.”

“You heard him,” Jack said. “If he doesn’t want to, I’m not going to -- “

“He never said he didn’t want to,” Georgia said. “He just didn’t want to cause trouble for you. Go tell him it’s okay.”

“He won’t cause me trouble?” 

“Oh, he probably will,” George said. “But if you two like each other as much as you seem to, it will be worth it. Now scoot. I’ll see you next week.”


End file.
